


Comfort

by sidewinder



Series: The Spaces in Between [3]
Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Episode Related, Episode s04e06: Angels, Gen, Pre-Slash, filler fic, other characters briefly seen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 11:29:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9438245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidewinder/pseuds/sidewinder
Summary: He always felt awkward, shaky on how one said things that didn’t come out sounding preachy, forced or phony—as they usually did to him. He could be a good, quiet listener…but that only worked when the other person was willing to talk.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm lately in the mood to fill in some earlier moments in this series, leading up to the start of their relationship as more than just "partners" on the job. Plus it's a good excuse to rewatch some older, favorite episodes. There will be more to come, I'm sure, including me _finally_ writing how they actually hook up—a story that's been in my head for ages, but I haven't managed to pull it together to my satisfaction yet. So stay tuned...?

“So am I good to go?”

“Give me one more minute…” The detectives sat silent in the back of the van, Morales listening back to the recording of their just-spoken words. Then, he nodded. “Okay, John, you’re good. Try not to fuss too much with your jacket while you’re in there. Excess movement or shifting around can cause static and interference.”

“And we don’t want to miss one word of this conversation,” Fin added, an unnecessary reminder of the task at hand.

“I know. This isn’t exactly my first rodeo.” Despite his words of confidence, John was uncomfortable with having to be at the center of this operation. He closed his eyes for a brief moment and exhaled a deep breath to clear his head, get into character…focus on what he had to do next. Focus, but not think about it too closely. _Follow the script as rehearsed; say what you need to say to catch this bastard and nothing more. Easy._

Right. As if pretending to be a pedophile looking to pay for a sex tour to another country was something that could—or _should_ —ever come “easy”.

When John opened his eyes, he found Fin’s intent gaze on him. No doubt his partner was sizing up his readiness. There was also genuine concern there in his expression—worry not simply for the case, but for John’s state of mind.

“I’ll be right outside the office doors, listening and waiting with the unis,” Fin said. The plan was not a complicated one; repeating the details was simple reassurance. “Soon as I hear that money’s changed hands, we’re coming in. You just make sure Damon doesn’t somehow get away.”

“No sweat.” The primary thing he had to remember what that his badge was in his outer jacket pocket, and wallet with his fake ID in the inside one. A driver’s license, passport if also checked…all provided care of the NYPD. “John Blackmum” was only one of several undercover identities he had ready to use if necessary, as all the detectives in their unit did.

“Sure you’re all right to do this.” Fin didn’t sound convinced, and that worried John. He couldn’t go in there looking nervous, or else Damon was certain to suspect a police sting.

“Who else do we have on hand to play the part of your garden variety, middle-aged and mild-mannered pedophile with too much money to burn on his perverse interests? I’ve had to cozy up to these dregs of humanity before.” _Doesn’t mean I don’t get sick to my stomach to have to do it again._

It had been a while, though. A few years ago, he and Stabler had gone in together to break up an internet predator confab, and that had ended up in a tangled mess with the Feds. Stabler on his own was too likely to bust some skulls open instead of making a clean arrest. They might also recognize Elliot, as he'd talked to other suspected members of this trafficking ring during the investigation into Jose and Jansen’s deaths. Fin didn’t quite meet the typical profile, and as such he might have raised red flags from the start. Cragen had been caught by reporters to give a statement on the situation, so his face had been in the news recently as well.

That left it up to “John Blackmum” to send an inquiry email to Anthony Damon—one that had received a reply in less than two hours last night. Damon had asked for basic information so he could set up a potential client profile, and by the next morning had proposed an in-person meeting to discuss possible travel arrangements.

So quick, so nonchalant. A dark side of humanity the SVU detectives all knew was out there. Still, it was sickening to think how some could treat it as no different from booking a simple family getaway to the Bahamas.

John sighed. “All right, let’s get this over with.” He got out of the van, Fin right behind him as Morales both wished them luck. They were across the street from the office building housing Global Voyages, where John was to meet Damon in five minutes. The office was on the fifth floor; no reason to suspect any surveillance cameras on the street, monitoring who came and went from outside—or to notice that van. The unis were parked around the corner. Fin radioed them to say they should get ready to move.

“Try not to trip over your own feet,” Fin said to John as they waited for the walk light to change.

“I’m not _that_ blind without my glasses.” He looked less severe and stern this way, he knew, and that was why it worked as part of his “disguise”. Or maybe, that was why he normally always kept them on, never even thought about switching to contacts. He always felt strangely vulnerable without them, and not just because the world was blurry around the edges.

But John appreciated his partner’s gentle teasing to keep his mind off of things. He knew that, no matter what, Fin would be there to catch him if he _did_ fall—physically or emotionally. That knowledge made what he had to do next possible, and tolerable. 

* * *

Anthony Damon looked far too smug and sure of himself as he sat alone in the interrogation room. That would no doubt change once they laid out all the evidence they had against him. Cabot, Cragen, Fin and Stabler observed through the one-way mirror, Stabler clearly the most eager to get in there and get his chance at this pervert. Fin was the only one not solely focused on their suspect, instead wondering why John had yet to join them.

“Think we’ve let him stew long enough?” Stabler prompted, finally breaking the silence. He looked like a cat who couldn’t wait to get his claws into cornered prey.

“More than enough,” Cragen said. “The clock’s ticking, and we need him to roll over so we can get those other kids away from Lynch.” He turned to Fin, his words echoing the question at the front of the detective’s mind. “Where’s your partner?”

“Went to the lockers to get changed. I’ll get him,” Fin volunteered before anyone else might offer to track down Munch. John had been tense and quiet on the ride back to the house after arresting Damon, and had immediately gone to the locker room as soon as they were back. Fin had figured he needed some time to sort himself out, but this _was_ taking longer than it should.

This entire case had been ugly from the start, the kind both of them— _all_ of them—hated. A dead boy found in a bus luggage compartment, leading to a human trafficking operation…it was difficult not to let that get to you. John always seemed to take situations like this one especially hard, even if he didn’t show it with open anger and quick aggressive response the way Stabler did.

Not most of the time, at least. Though the rage in John’s voice when he’d gone in for the arrest today was something Fin had only heard a few times before from his partner. He’d known to rush in immediately to make sure it didn’t spill over to violence.

Fin had picked up the hints, these past few years, that John’s own childhood hadn’t exactly been the most pleasant. Though his comments about it always came in the form of wisecracks and one-liners, the dark humor did little to diminish the uneasy truth behind his words. Sometimes Fin wondered if that unpleasantness had extended to any of the horrors they now tried to put an end to on the job.

But that wasn’t a question he felt comfortable raising unless or if that conversational door was opened for him. He just knew the expression that came over John’s face when they had to force themselves to watch videotapes like the one found in Jansen’s apartment, or when they listened to a boy like Ernesto’s tear-filled story of repeated rape and assault. It made Fin want to reach out and offer comfort to the man, even if he didn’t know how to go about it.

That wasn’t normally his kind of thing, comforting others. He always felt awkward, shaky on how one said things that didn’t come out sounding preachy, forced or phony—as they usually did to him. He could be a good, quiet listener…but that only worked when the other person was willing to talk.

Fin took the elevator down several floors, alone with his thoughts and the words from earlier that had left his own skin crawling as he’d listened in via his earpiece.

_“You fly business class, stay in a business hotel, meals and entertainment included for five thousand.”_

_“And the entertainment?”_

_“Do you prefer girls or boys? Or both?”_

_A small laugh. “Boys. Eleven to thirteen.”_

_“We work with an orphanage, five-year-olds on up. Plus, you get a videotape so you can cherish the memory.”_

Fin clenched a fist, then made himself let it go. He couldn’t dwell on these things; none of them could. If you did, it ended up messing with your head, started making it hard to remember all the good things they did at SVU instead of obsessing over those they hadn’t been able to save.

He was starting to see why most got out of sex crimes after a two or three year maximum rotation. He was at that point himself where all common sense and reason told him he should be thinking about transferring.

But he felt a purpose working here that had eluded him in Narcotics. And moving on would mean leaving John, who showed no signs of wanting to give up the fight, no matter how much it disturbed him. For some reason the thought of leaving John to this battle on his own was more of a discouragement to departing than anything else.

The men’s locker room was quiet when Fin entered…quiet at first, at least, and he wondered if John had disappeared to somewhere else. Then he heard the retching coming from the bathroom stalls and he hesitated, not wanting to intrude. Scanning the room, he noticed a light-colored jacket tossed in the trash can. It was the one John had worn earlier in the day.

 _Don’t blame him one bit._ Fin would have made a joke about how clunky and out-of-character the attire had looked on John anyway, but now it seemed best to forget its very existence. He only walked to the trash to push it further down, out of sight and—hopefully—out of mind from this point forward.

A stall door opened and shut, followed by footsteps, the sound of running water at the sinks. Fin took that as a signal he could proceed. Indeed, he found John standing over a sink, washing his hands and splashing some of the water on his face. He looked like himself again, in his standard dark clothes, glasses back on his nose. The cool, somber man in black; it was a relief to see that, even if his face looked paler than normal, a sick clamminess he hadn’t shaken.

“John?” Fin started with caution, so as not to startle his partner.

“Present and accounted for, if a little green around the edges.”

“Damon’s in interrogation room three. Elliot’s ready to go at him, ’n you know Elliot.”

“Yeah, leave him alone with this guy and Damon’s head is likely to end up meeting Stabler’s fist. Or a concrete wall.” John ran his hands one last time over his face and sighed as he checked his reflection in the mirror. “In this case I might not stop him.”

Fin stepped in closer. “You ain’t feelin’ good, I can do this with Stabler.”

“No. It’s my collar. I need to get in the box with him.” John paused and gave Fin a look that was not quite a smile, but at least one of appreciation. “Thanks, though. I’ll let you buy me a round later on if we get out of here before midnight. I have a feeling I’m going to need it.”

Fin had no problem agreeing to that. He added, “I’ll even drive you home without bitching about it, if I don’t drink too much myself.”

John’s expression turned into an actual smile at those words, and he put his hand on Fin’s shoulder for a moment—a long, quiet moment where the silence between them felt deafening and Fin felt a tightness in his chest. It was that comfort thing he wasn’t used to, especially when it came to casual touches, hugs…things people like John seemed to do without hesitation.

It had taken Fin some time to get used to that, and not flinch away instinctively or freeze up. But lately he found he didn’t mind so much when those touches came from John, especially when he saw how it seemed to ground the man, to have someone to hold on to when needed. A touch to reassure.

A touch that somehow left Fin wanting more.

Words seemed to hang on the tip of John’s tongue, a question in his eyes, but then that hand slipped away and Fin remembered to breathe again.

“See you upstairs,” John said as he left, and Fin could only mutter a quiet “Yeah” in response. Suddenly he was the one who found himself flustered and unsteady. A feeling which…it wasn’t the first time he’d felt it in John’s presence, but it seemed to be happening with more and more frequency.

But now wasn’t the time to think too much about that. In fact he preferred to push it out of mind as quick as possible, as he usually did. He went to the sink to splash his face with some cold water as John had, to try to flush away the heat lingering beneath the surface of his skin, and in his mind.

 


End file.
